


239 - Van Has Nightmares

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Mini Fic, Reader-Insert, Sick/Sad Van
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 17:28:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17390573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “a fic about Van having like crazy intense nightmares very often that wake him up in the middle of the night and the only thing he wants is to be held by his gf or whatever?”





	239 - Van Has Nightmares

Van's nightmares were probably the reason you were together. There was a house party when you were younger. All night you'd been stalking each other through the rooms, across the makeshift carpeted dancefloor, through the uncut backyard grass. High on life and probably a lot of other things, Van had passed out on the floor of Milo's bedroom around 2 am. You stood in the doorway with Milo.

"Can I get a blanket for him?" you asked.

"Yeah. You know where the spares are at. Who is he anyway?"

"He came with Bond. He's the singer of that band he joined," you answered. Milo nodded and walked away.

After wedging a pillow under his head and covering him with a blanket, you left Van to his drunken dreams. An hour later, you stumbled back into the bedroom and collapsed on the bed. Only twenty minutes into your own slumber and you woke at the sound of Van's hand smacking into the bedside table. His rings hit with a force that should have made him wake. You sat up and turned the lamp on. He was dead to the world but quite clearly having a nightmare. A vivid, horrible nightmare.

For probably too long, you watched his face contort into expressions of worry and fear and maybe revulsion. His left hand continued to hit close-by objects as his arm waved around. His legs twitched and when his lips parted you could hear how fast his breathing was. Your drunk brain snapped into action at the sound. On your knees next to him, you tried to gently shake him awake. No response. He whimpered and scrunched his nose up.

"Van!" you said in an urgent whisper. "Wake up… Please." More shaking. You were getting scared and forceful and finally he shot up, almost knocking you over.

"Fuck!" he said, wiping the sweat from his forehead on his sleeve. He looked around, disorientated. Van's focus settled on you.

"You had a nightmare," you said stupidly.

Nodding, he replied, "Yeah,"

"I… uh…" You paused to hiccup. Van smiled and it was a relief to see him okay. "I didn't know…"

"It's fine. I'm fine. Thanks, love,"

"Does that happen a lot?" you asked, crawling closer. He was sober enough to notice the intoxicated sway of your movements.

"Ah, yeah. It's all good though. Were you in bed? What were you doing in here?"

"Oh," you said, suddenly realising how weird it would have seemed to him. "Yeah. In bed,"

"Yeah, 'kay, back then."

Van helped you back onto the bed; you made it under the blankets second time around.

"Where are you going?" you asked when he went to move from the room.

He awkwardly stopped, his fingers knotting around each other. He pointed to the door with his thumb over his shoulder. "Gonna go crash somewhere where I won't wake anybody up,"

"No. Stay. It's okay," you replied quickly, patting the bed next to you. He took one step closer to the bed, then stopped. "Seriously. My sister used to get these night terrors and stuff and would sleep with me. I'm used to it. Come on. Keep me warm."

You both passed out again within ten minutes. Just before though, Van's hand curled around yours. Neither of you dreamt at all. No nightmares.

In the morning you woke with a sense of loyalty to Van and a need to protect him. Without his nightmare, maybe you still would have found a reason to swap names and numbers and meet up again, but at the very least it would have been significantly more casual. It would have been void of the intensity and intimacy that you had with him from the very start. It wasn't like you were grateful for him having them, but you'd always been good at seeing the silver lining.

…

The only person that could call you after 1 am was Van. When your phone was set to Do Not Disturb, only your Favourite contacts could make your phone glow and sing. And, Van was your only Favourite. It wasn't 1 am where he was though; it was much later… earlier… maybe close to 4 in the morning.

"Baby?"

"Hey, love. Sorry for wakin' you," he said. His voice was shaking with residual nightmare induced energy.

"What was it about this time?" you asked. Van sighed and you could picture him pacing in the hotel hallway. He'd have tossed up between just sneaking out onto the street in his pyjamas for a smoke or calling you. He didn’t call after every nightmare, so the fact that he was on the phone meant it was a bad one.

"Had like, a proper story. You was in it." Van explained some of it and you suspected some detailed were omitted for the sake of your own dreams.

"Fuck," was all you could say. How could someone so sunshiney dream up such horrible things?

"Yeah. I'm alright. Just needed to hear your voice,"

"I'm glad you called. I'm sorry I'm not there to hug it out. Where's Larry?"

Van laughed at the proximity of the thought of hugging to the mention of Larry. "Asleep. Everyone's asleep. It's quarter to four,"

"Okay, yeah. You should probably try to get some sleep then?" you asked in a rhetorical question that was really an order. Suggestions worked better at making Van do something. He never did like being told what to do.

"Yeah, yeah. Good idea. Okay. I'll talk to you later, love. I love you,"

"I love you too, Van. You're alright, baby. I'll see you soon,"

"Yep. Bye,"

"Bye, baby."

The poor thing really just wanted you.

…

Van had a whole week of dreamless sleep when he got back from tour. His body was probably just too exhausted; there was no cognitive energy left to weave together terrifying narratives and imagery out of random synaptic firing. Then, on the eighth night home, he almost slapped you in the face. You had woken up when he kicked your shin. Sitting up, you watched him toss and turn. The general rule was to let him try to sleep through it unless there were audible unsettling sounds. Van was a tough cookie and his doctor thought so too. You didn't like the rule all that much.

You watched his joints lock and his fingers go all twitchy. They weren’t the adorable fluid movements of his usual, awake restless body. They were jarring and reminded you of horror movies. He made a whining sound, then his arm shot out and his hand was only centimetres from your face.

"Fuck," you muttered as you reflexively moved out of the way.

Then, you saw the tears. They were rolling down his rosy cheeks. You were about to wake him up when the whining turned to words. Curiosity froze you in place. He breathed in fast, little huffs, then spoke again. It was your name. He whined it out. Then, the word please and a string of whiney nos and don'ts. It scared you and you shook him awake violently. He sat up with such a force that he was up on his knees, leaning forward and panting heavily. He was on all fours and a few tears dropped from his face onto the bed, gravity pulling them down.

"Baby… Are you… That was… bad… Are you okay?" you whispered.

Van slowly dragged himself off the bed to stand. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. He nodded but kept his eyes closed. He walked from the bedroom without looking at you.

After three minutes, you couldn't wait any longer. Tiptoeing through the house, you found Van standing at the open back door, smoking and watching Mary sniff around his feet. When you approached, he uncurled an arm from around himself and held it out for you to nestle under. You wrapped your arms around him and held on tight.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Sorry if I freaked you out," he replied, kissing the top of your head.

"No, it's okay. Are you okay though? That was a really bad one. You were talking and everything,"

"What did I say?" he asked.

"My name. And like, you said no and don't a lot. Sounded… I don't know. Do you remember it?"

The pause told you that he was forming an answer, which meant that he did remember it and was just making a decision about if he wanted you to know. The real bad dreams, the ones you wanted to know about the most, were often left in the depths of Van's mind. Whatever happened to him while he was asleep wasn't something he wanted you to think about.

"Ah, not really. You were there. Someone was hurting you bad. I don't know. Not good. I'm alright though," he said, moving a little bit on the spot. You let him go and collected Mary from outside, bringing her in. Van locked the back door and followed you to the bedroom.

Safe and warm under the covers, you laid on your sides facing each other. You reached out and ran your fingers through his hair. On contact, Van pulled you close and buried his face in the crook of your neck.

"I love you," he mumbled.

"Love you too,"

"Sorry I always wake you,"

"Van, been through this, yeah? We're good. Don't love them or anything, but if you never had nightmares then-" you said as bait. He took it straight away; his head lifted and he grinned before interrupting.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. We wouldn’t have got together so quick. So good. You're weird, you know. Wanting to look after a kickin' and screamin' drunk guy," 

"You weren't really screaming. Just those weird, sad little animal sounds,"

"Right. Much more attractive," he replied with a smirk. You nodded and leant in to kiss him gently.

You relaxed into Van's arms as Mary jumped onto the bed and made her little circled spot on top of your feet. You hoped that if Van kicked again, that he'd not send her flying across the room. Poor things.


End file.
